Blow My Whistle Baby
by dauntlesszemrys
Summary: Sherlock plays a strange pop song on the violin one day, then John is pulled into the whirlwind of Sherlock's secret night life. A slightly AU fic where Sherlock is Kinsey 6 gay, John is bisexual, and Sherlock is one hell of a sexy dancer. Johnlock slash.
1. Chapter 1

The day started as any other in between cases. John made tea in two mugs that weren't commandeered to fungus or some sort of toxic experiment created by his mad flat mate Sherlock Holmes. The flat mate would storm out of his bedroom shortly after in some manner of undress, today it was a t-shirt of John's that he stole from the washing. It was too short at the bottom, showing a sliver of pale abdominal muscle and jutting hips beneath the frayed edge and the collar was saggy from being stretched out for years. Nothing was sacred to the detective it seemed, not even clothing, as he constantly wore John's shirts, but only the really old ones that John himself didn't even deem worthy to wear.

During the "black mood" as John had taken to calling the foul time between cases, Sherlock tried as best as possible to appear as absolutely decrepit and annoying unhygienic as to push John to his limits. Days, even a week went by before John all but threw the lanky pale man into sudsy water and locked the bathroom door from the outside until Sherlock washed himself. He would usually knock on the door three times; indicating that he had, in fact, cleaned himself and John would open the door. He was lithe and absolutely breathtaking wet (not that John would admit it).

Tea was had and a tantrum was usually thrown by at least one o' clock. On this particular day, it was about the vegetable drawer in the fridge that lacked vegetables.

"Bloody hell Sherlock I keep food in there! I'm pretty sure human fingers and toes DO NOT count as food!"

"To certain indigenous natives in remote parts of Asia…"

"Well we aren't indigenous natives in remote parts of Asia are we?"

"Of course not, isn't that obvious? My skin would perish in that awful sun and yours wouldn't fare much better…"

"That is so not the point of this conversation. The point is… oh you utter dickhead I forgot the damn point." John shook his head and rubbed the palms of his hands against his tired eyes. Sherlock only smirked in satisfaction and twirled to the window, his dressing gown fluttering about him with dramatic pizazz. Everything about Sherlock was dramatic, even his damn wardrobe.

"You didn't swear as much before the army," Sherlock said two seconds later.

"Yes brilliant deduction that."

"Aren't they all?"

"Arrogant git," John muttered, taking up the paper.

"Heard that," Sherlock drawled, clearly set on having the last word in their conversation. John gave up and rolled his eyes, trying to focus on the lifestyle section of the paper. Sherlock plucked his violin from the floor and tuned the strings noisily, setting the stage for another domestic tiff. For some much unknown (to John) reason, Sherlock liked riling John up into their playful argumentative banter. The black and grey words in front of John's tawny blue eyes made less sense the more he tried to focus. Eventually he put down the paper and folded it onto the side table by his right arm to watch the concert. Would it be Paganini or one of his own pieces today? Sometimes, Sherlock wouldn't play anything; just run the bow over the strings to reproduce the sounds of a feral tomcat mating.

He rosined the bow well, the placed it onto the strings, his elbowed raised. The song was actually familiar to John, which was entirely surprising. He had heard it on the radio sometime or other, so it was a modern pop song? John watched Sherlock's curls shake as he played. John raised his eyebrow in confusion, his eyes narrowed and his head cocked to one side. Sherlock didn't give a rat's ass about pop culture, why would he play a modern song? He was sure he'd heard it; the melody of the hook was distinctive.

"Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby, let me know. Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it and we start real slow. You just put your lips together and you come real close. Can you blow my whistle baby whistle baby, here we go," John hummed under his breath, too low for Sherlock to hear, to the violin. John scrambled for his phone and started to record the song, making sure to catch the hook as well. It was hysterical, to hear a song about blowjobs of all things to come out of the mysterious and beautiful violin of Sherlock bloody Holmes. Was he even sure of what he was playing or did it come from memory? Where did Sherlock hear the song, what type of environment did he have to be in to hear a song like that?

"Sherlock?" John asked as the song ended.

"Hmm?" the man replied, not turning around to face John.

"What the hell was that?" Well, there went all attempts at subtlety out the window.

"Music John, or are you going prematurely deaf?"

"Yeah Sherlock I know it was music, but where in the hell did you learn that song from?"

"I heard it."

"Where?"

"John you don't have anything on tonight do you? Goodness me why am I asking of course you don't. You are coming with me tonight. I hope you have, in fact noticed my absences at night. No? Well how could you notice, you're asleep before the elderly are even eating their supper."

"You've been sneaking out? Hang on a moment it isn't my fault I stay up all night having to run across London on one of our bloody cases!"

"Irrelevant. Let's see you'll need something to wear… and I think I know just the thing. John do you still have your army uniform? Not the decorative one, the actual army greens? Oh good you do, dig that out and wear a muscle shirt underneath. I'll give you something else before we head out."

"Sherlock what in the HELL are you on about?"

"Fun, John. Be ready by ten o' clock precisely. Oh, and the combat boots would be perfect. The black ones…" Sherlock said impishly. He left John to sit in his chair, befuddled by his current predicament. He had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, and somehow John didn't care. Sherlock was right, as he always was. John was becoming increasingly dull. Wherever Sherlock had been supposedly going, John wanted to find out far more than he wanted to sleep. Thank god it was Friday.


	2. Chapter 2

The day was torturously slow, John spending most of it thinking about where they were going. Why did he have to wear his army greens anyway? They were a snug fit in the arse and the thigh when he slipped into them at precisely 9:30. It perfectly highlight John's crotch, the fabric bulging unnecessarily. He was always a well-endowed man, muscular in build and defying the stereotype for shorter men. It wasn't like he was really that short anyway, at 5' 10". The white vest shirt showed off his well-kept pectorals and abdominals, his still lightly tanned skin illuminated by the color. His jacket was a perfect fit; he rolled up the sleeves to the elbows and popped the collar. The medics cross blazed on his right bicep.

The reflection in the mirror was ten years younger; the John Watson that had first enlisted in the army. It was the John Watson that got a tattoo on his ass of death before dishonor, drove an old motorcycle, and wasn't afraid to admit he fancied blokes as much as he did women. Sure, women were great, but there was something about men that caught John's attention. Maybe it was the manly faces, or the height difference. Maybe it was the way men walked, letting everyone know they were packing heat. Some Men were rough and gruff, and others walked with arrogant class and sophistication.

He played the eyebrow game in the mirror until 9:58, and then walked down the stairs into the main room, his army boots landing heavily on the carpet. The pants were tucked in haphazardly.

"Sherlock?" John called out through the flat. Sherlock walked in and John's jaw made a comically short drop straight to the floor. Sherlock wore the tightest black jeans John had ever seen on any man in his life. His long legs looked even longer in the trousers. He wore a black mesh shirt underneath a stylishly oversized, unbuttoned dark purple shirt. John was surprised to see how defined Sherlock actually was for a man so lean. A collar rested around the pale column of neck, a delicate lock in the center. A cigarette hung out of Sherlock's perfect carved lips. John detected the slightest hint of smoky eyeliner to give Sherlock and even more otherworldly appearance. He also noticed the man's nails were painted black. His hair was artfully styled, the hair slicked up and to one side. Other accessories included lots of leather bracelets and a chain on his jeans.

Good lord Sherlock was walking sex on legs. Jesus take the wheel, John thought to himself, once again mindful to remove his jaw from its current position and close his mouth.

"Ready then JooOH," Sherlock asked, turning to John and quickly whipping the cigarette out of his mouth.

"intriguing," Sherlock said smugly, recovering from the shock of seeing his flat mate and best friend so thoroughly done up much quicker than John had. They made the journey down the stairs in silence, and Sherlock called them a cab, telling the address to the cabbie, who stared but otherwise made no comments on their appearance.

"So where are we going… bar, night club, rave?" John asked. The corner of Sherlock's lips turned up slyly and seemingly refused to answer until he spoke up.

"It's called the Black Velvet Lounge, the premiere club in London. It's damn near impossible to get in, except if you know someone, or have a membership." Sherlock informed him. John's eyes bulged.

"That's an exclusive gay club. Sherlock… you're Kinsey 6 gay aren't you?" John practically exclaimed with less disbelief than originally expected.

"Yes I am exclusively homosexual if that answers that question. Thought you'd have figured that out already," Sherlock said, unusually more relaxed than usual. Was it that he was being open with John about most everything, revealing one of his well kept secrets.

"No one knows anything about you Sherlock Holmes. The Yard has a bloody pool that you're asexual!" John said, laughing his ass off, wiping laughter tears from his eyes. The cab stopped in front of the entrance flooded with people dressed in their best. Music with a steady beat poured out the large lavish doors, intertwining with neon lights.

"Here," Sherlock said, eagerly staring out the window. He all but leapt out of the cab door, throwing the notes at the driver. John followed and together they walked through the crowd to the very front.

"Lock baby! Groovy look honey, you look swanky! Is he your little friend or just another one of the fanboys," a transgender woman called out to Sherlock and drew him in for a kiss to both cheeks, Parisian style.

"Thanks Wanda! He's with me baby, no need to kick a fine piece of ass to the road." Sherlock said in a voice entirely too high for it to be normal. John registered that they were talking about him and he smiled sheepishly.

"Well don't lose him, someone might try to steal him! Go ahead in honey! Oh, and can you say hi to Maurice for me?" Wanda lifted the rope and let them inside. Sherlock nodded a yes and they emerged on the other side of the Black Velvet Lounge.

The entire club was dim, save for the multicolored lights embedded in the walls and in the floor. Music pounded in his ears, all modern club music. Booths lined the walls with groups of good looking people- both men and women- laughing and drinking with each other. There were a few sucking face near the toilets at the far corner and couples grinded up on each other in a frenzy of bodies. The bar was off to John's right shoulder, along with a few more plush booths made of (no shit) black velvet. Sherlock directed them to a smaller sized booth and comfortably sat on the edge, leaning in a suggestive pose, smiling wickedly. It was certainly a high to be in an energetic environment like this, John breathed in the sickly sweet smell of booze and sweat.

"So the usual for you Mr. Sextastic. What you want honey?" A waiter wearing gold lame parachute bottoms and a similar top in the shape of a tuxedo addressed the best friends. Sherlock looked the man up and down cheekily.

"One goose. You off work tonight?" Sherlock asked, pulling the waiter into his lap, making a show of mouthing kisses to the man's jaw. John thought he had seen everything, but apparently not. This was not the Sherlock he knew. Sherlock Holmes didn't let people touch him, and certainly never initiated contact of a wholly sexual nature. The waiter in Sherlock's lap giggled and playfully pulled away. John looked away from them, not feeling in the party mood anymore. It wasn't fair that some twinky waiter at some snobby gay club got to be propositioned by the most gorgeous man in London and John was simply sitting off to the side, ignored. After all, he was the one who came with Sherlock!

"You know I can't Sherly. I've got a boyfriend now and he doesn't like to share. I'll go get the goose," the waiter winked and sauntered of to get the drinks. Sherlock now turned his rapt attention to John. John raised an eyebrow, pushing down the green monster of jealousy.

"I want to dance," Sherlock announced, standing from the table. John did the same and followed closely behind. Eyes turned to the new couple on the floor, most of them at Sherlock. John sucked in his cheeks and gave any wandering eyes a look clearly meaning back off he's mine. Sherlock made it to the spot he wanted just in time for the last song to end. The first beats played over the DJ system and every patron screamed.

"H-h-h-h-holy shit," the song went. Sherlock closed his eyes and his legs flew open, his arms going up to his head.

"Slow down, Grab the wall. Wiggle like you tryin' to make your ass fall off. Hell I think I wanna smash em all now; speed up, gas pedal." The rapper sang. Sherlock, however, was far more captivating than the lyrics. He swayed his hips, shaking his pert arse for everyone to see. At gas pedal, he leaned side to side, his hands brushing away invisible dust. He gyrated and shook perfectly, now nearly everyone was cheering him on. A huge man with chocolate skin walked behind Sherlock and put his bear sized hands on the man's hips. Sherlock grinned and ground himself back into the stranger's hips. John gritted his teeth. Yep, that was most definitely it; the last straw in John's everlasting supply of tolerance. He tapped the black man on the shoulder and luckily he backed off. John quickly took the stranger's place and ground into Sherlock, pulling the paler man's back flush with his chest. Their hips went in circles in sync, leaning this way and that.

"Finally John it took you long enough," Sherlock panted. "Didn't think you would last past the waiter, but I undermined your abilities to be polite," he accented his last word with a very specific undulation of the hips, his hands going back to circle John's neck in the sexiest of ways.

"What the hell are you talking about?" John panted back, concentrating everything on his movements.

"My fun was to test how long it took for you to take control and claim me as yours. I've known for a while that you wouldn't go as far as I wanted you too unless you got jealous," Sherlock replied.

"So all of this, the club and the flirting, it was all to make me jealous so I would ask you out?"

"Did it work?"

"Arrogant sod of course it did! Jesus Christ you're gorgeous," John swore, turning Sherlock around to face him and kissing him on the mouth, filthy and aggressive. Sherlock returned the same ferocity, moving his lips against John's. John licked at Sherlock's bottom lip, his tongue begging for entrance, which the other man gladly obliged to.

"Sherlock!" A frantic voice called. John groaned and broke the kiss leaving Sherlock, for once, stunned.

"What do you want him for now?" John asked, patience abandoning him completely.

"One of the dancers sprained his ankle and we need you to fill in! I'm sure you remember your solo right? Please say yes, you're out only hope and it's only for one number!" A little thing, barely over 120lbs wailed, pushing his pastel purple hair up in distress. Sherlock looked at John.

The soldier thought it over. Sherlock was going to dance on stage. Given his previous mind boggling moves, John definitely wanted to see more. He nodded to Sherlock who smiled genuinely.

"Make sure John gets perfect seating, I need him to see everything." Sherlock said as he walked away through black velvet curtains behind the bar. John walked to his and Sherlock's booth, their drinks made. Sherlock only had water but John had vodka. He sipped at the drink minutely and waited in his seat for Sherlock to climb on the stage.


	3. Chapter 3

Attention was turned to the stage and the wall lights dimmed, spotlight turned to the stage with a pole directly in its center. Sherlock walked on stage as the music drummed its steady hip hop beat. John's jaw dropped for the second time of the night. Sherlock wore platform heels and a pair of shiny thigh highs. Holding it up was a black garter belt and black compression pants. On the top, a corset added curve to Sherlock's sharp angular frame. He grasped onto the pole with one hand and completed one circle, winking at John.

"She moves her body like a cyclone and she makes me wanna do it all night long! Going hard when they turn the spotlights on cause she moves her body like a cyclone, just like a cyclone." Sherlock kicked his leg up and used the pole to lift his body off the floor, leaning backwards. He writhed and undulated around the pole, rolling his ass up into the air to show off. Sweat poured out of his body, dampening the curls at the nape of his neck. A few men tried to reach out and touch, but Sherlock backed away, waggling a finger then blowing a kiss to John. "wowowowowowow" Sherlock struck a pose, head thrown back and leaning on the pole, sexy and lithe.

John stood while everyone clapped and waited the five minutes it took for Sherlock to put his clothes on again. This time, Sherlock was wearing the corset underneath his oversized purple shirt and the elegant high heels remained on his feet. He wasted no time in claiming the man's mouth, eager to prove to everyone that HE owned this bewitching creature.

"You still wearing the lingerie?" John whispered into his ear. Sherlock nodded and moaned into John's neck. Smiling, John pulled away and rested his hand on Sherlock's ass, leading him through the pumping club and to the door. Wanda waved and winked to them on the way out.

"Lucky bastard, I mean seriously, all the good ones are fucking taken," a fruity redhead said to his friend. John smirked and pinched Sherlock's bum as they passed. He liked the voyeurism, the freedom that came with showing affection in public. John had Sherlock get in first, and then he followed, sitting very close to him.

"This is about more isn't it? You always hated my girlfriends, every one of them. Were you jealous?" John asked, his voice dropping low.

"They weren't good enough for you. Besides, you were lying to yourself. You wanted to date a woman and give your parents the grandkids their daughter will never provide. But you can't do that anymore can you? You can't lie to yourself and deny what you want- who you want- any longer. You want me; you want to be inside me. You want to fill me up and tell the entire world I'm yours. No more pretending." Sherlock raked his black fingernails down the muscle shirt, catching John's nipple over the fabric. John gasped and willed the cab to move faster.

"Oi! Can you two get a room? Jesus you're here," the aggravated cabbie said. John covered the fare this time and the two men chased each other up to the flat. Falling to animalistic instinct, John slammed Sherlock back into the door, forcing it to slam shut.

"I want you so bad Sherlock. Christ, how long have you wanted this? How long did you wait to put this plan into action?" John asked, his hands roaming down the body in front of him.

"Since that first day in Bart's. I saw you and immediately I knew that I wanted you," Sherlock replied breathily, leaning his head back and arching his spine, desperate to get closer to John.

"God you wanton little thing. Look at you, so perfect and amazing. You fantasized about me didn't you?" John slipped his hands down the shirt front, undoing the buttons and pushing the purple shirt off his pale shoulders. Next, John divested him of the mesh top covering the corset, black with white pinstripes. It turned John on more than it should have, Sherlock in a corset like a Victorian whore. John tucked his fingers into the waistband of the jeans, just barely loose enough to lock his hands on two perfect globes of flesh; pert and muscular. His mouth latched onto Sherlock's nipple and the man moaned breathlessly, tightening his grip on John's arms to a painful degree.

"Yes god yes John. I'm… oh god… very sensitive there…" Sherlock warned, John playing with the other nipple now too. John chuckled against Sherlock's chest. He should have known that Sherlock's other senses were just as enhanced as his brilliant mind.

"What did we do in your fantasies?" John asked, unbuckling Sherlock's belt and pulling the zip down, John laughed when he realized Sherlock had removed the pants and kept the garter belt on. Sherlock threw the platform shoes off of his feet to aid the process along.

"You ordered me to get on my knees and suck you, to call you captain. You look so handsome in your uniform, muscular and masculine in all the greatest of ways. When I don't obey, you spank me once, telling me I wasn't being the good soldier I should be," Sherlock said in a voice that should be sin. John groaned, growing uncomfortably hard in his trousers. He reluctantly pulled away just a hair to undo his belt and zip, relieving the pressure. Sherlock gasped and panted from the lack of contact.

"Tight trousers, big cock," John explained shortly.

"How big?" Sherlock replied cheekily. John snorted and fisted his hand into raven curls.

"Find out. On your knees soldier, that's an order." John demanded, shoving the man down to his knees. Sherlock stared up at full attention.

"You know what happens next. Blow my whistle baby," John cooed, long slim fingers pulling the trousers down around his thighs and tugging the red pants down as well. This was going to be a very fun night for the both of them.


	4. Author's Note: IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

**Hey Guys! Author's Note! **

**Okay so the next chapter I wrote is extremely NSFW and I'm a little scared about posting it, as it would be my first time posting something like that (It's in DETAIL)! So I need you guys to inbox me with our messages of yay (please do that shit) or nay (Don't do that shit). You have 24 hours so please let me know! That's all… I love you all! **

**-Z. Emrys **


	5. Chapter 4

Sherlock flicked his tongue out over the head, making John groan and tip his head back.

"Come on you slut, suck," John urged. Sherlock's mouth engulfed John's entire prick down to the base and John yelped, tightening his fist in the hair. Sherlock busied himself, bobbing up and down like he swallowed cock every day of his life, deep throating and all. His mouth was warm and wet, working John for everything he had.

"Oh god that's right you greedy little whore. Suck me good. Oh goddamn I'm going to paint all over that pretty face of yours." John groaned, pulling out of Sherlock's mouth just in time for him to orgasm. Cum striped Sherlock's face. It was a gorgeous sight and John couldn't remember the last time he had been so ready for round two so soon after round one. Now Sherlock was just whimpering, his cock untouched and begging for John's attention.

"We're going to your bedroom, and I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll limp into the yard and everyone will know just who did it," John muttered, pulling Sherlock off the floor and wiping off his face with the purple silk shirt. Sherlock could only whimper and nod in reply when John led them into Sherlock's bedroom and pushed him onto the bed, pulling the trousers off in one big tug.

"I need you inside me John. Now, god please NOW!" Sherlock rut himself against the white bed sheets in an attempt for friction. John groaned at the sight of the consulting detective, taken down to the baser needs of human kind, turned into a sexed up mess. John pushed his shoes off and tore down the trousers then the pants, until he was completely free of clothing.

"Call me captain," John ordered.

"Captain," Sherlock said, somehow managing to make the word defiant.

"If any other word besides captain comes out of your mouth, you get a spank. Soldiers need discipline," John circled the bed and kneeled onto the mattress, easing his way between Sherlock's open legs.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, smiling evilly. John raised a hand and brought it down to slap over Sherlock's right cheek. The pale man moaned and stuck his ass farther up in the air for more. It made sense, Sherlock asking for the highs of pain and pleasure to mix, adrenaline pumping through his body. John slapped his greedy little bottom again, testing the waters to see how far he could push Sherlock.

"Captain," Sherlock yelped in response, burying his face into the pillows.

"Sherlock… condom… lube…." John tried to make a coherent sentence and failed, desperate to be inside of this man, the man he hadn't realized he wanted until that damn song on the violin.

"Bedside table," Sherlock panted. John periodically ignored their game to pull out the objects required and ripped the silver foil open with his teeth, rolling the rubber on. Flipping the cap, he applied the slick substance to his fingers and circled Sherlock's rim.

"Oh Captain," came the breathy response as John pushed his first finger inside to the first knuckle.

"God you're tight. I can feel you clenching. That's you around my finger," John said, pushing it up into the pliant body to the knuckle. "Can you cum from just this… just me fucking you?" John asked, curious to see if Sherlock's sensitivity expanded everywhere.

"Want to see?" Sherlock asked. John, only half remembering he was supposed to be laying down discipline, smacked the other cheek.

"Yes Captain," Sherlock growled. John took the opportunity to add another finger, then one more. He scissored them, making sure he wouldn't hurt his partner.

"Captain, please," Sherlock begged. That nearly pushed John over the edge. He slathered himself and pushed into Sherlock, showing no mercy. They rut like animals, communicating through vague grunts and squeals. Quickly, John flipped their position and reentered so he could watch Sherlock's face as he fucked him.

"Come on, let me see it…" John urged. Sherlock yelled and his cock spurt all over his chest, untouched. His face was contorted in pleasure and release; the expression was so beautiful that John memorized it, every curve and wrinkle. Sherlock's muscles clamping down around him spurred John's release as well.

John and Sherlock lay side by side on the bed, panting and giggling like fools.

"That was… ridiculous. The best I've ever had Sherlock, seriously." John said once their pulses were at normal levels. Sherlock nodded and rolled into John's body, throwing one leg around the other man's hips. They didn't need to say anything else, sleep taking control of their bodies just as the morning light peaked in the sky.

"Blow my whistle baby whistle baby," John hummed, closing his eyes and drifting into the best sleep he's had in ages.


End file.
